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Jun 2015
My head sets on the horizon,
aflame with impending doom
scuttled like a sinking ****,
burnt and begging.

My hydrogenic mass defeats you,
surfaces spread thin like oil
on glass and there is only one way out -
immolation.

Sun-soaked dust clouds rain
their bitter truths on the
spires of steel antennae
violating my mind.
RMatheson
Written by
RMatheson  Beating tired bones
(Beating tired bones)   
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